That Piece of Glass
by Kagurazaka
Summary: As always, Kuroko waits until Mikoto comes home, sometimes at four in the morning, sometimes never.
1. Break

**That Piece of Glass**

Disclaimer: Do not own haughty twin-tailed girl and biribiri. Om nom nom.

Being Tokiwadai's ace and the third most powerful esper in the city, it cannot be helped that her life is rife with baseless rumours and speculations.

"What a lucky life she leads," they would say to their friends in hushed tones laced with jealousy and awe, "to be born into the path of the privileged, to be born with such a powerful power."

She had been a high-class lady, a genius, a snobby bitch, a flirt, a cruel electromaster, a demure beauty, a...

But Kuroko knows that she is none of that. She knows that her onee-sama likes to sleep while hugging her giant teddy bear, that she was once just an ordinary level 1, that she is obsessed with a frog, that she wears shorts under her skirt, that her favourite colour is green (and not just any green, but gekota green), that she likes to read manga for free in the convenience store, that she is quick to anger, that she kicks vending machines, that sometimes she would frown in her sleep; her brows furrowed from the worries spilling into the night, and she would toss and turn and Kuroko would hold her hand and stroke her hair and wait until she stops her cries and for the serene calm to return again.

And Kuroko would always ignore the _bump bump_ in her chest, sometimes so loud that she fears the sound will travel across the room and Misaka will find out that

That what?

Kuroko lets the thought trail away. There is no use thinking about that, no use in dissecting her feelings. She convinces herself that it is just adoration for her senior; her hero; her roommate; her best friend; the woman she

She is still not home.

It is two hours past curfew, and she is still not here. She is never here. As always, Kuroko waits until she comes home, sometimes at four in the morning, sometimes never. And when she comes home, Kuroko will always greet her with a smile and an inappropriately timed lewd joke and tell her that she is still up due to judgment work. Misaka, her ever so kind onee-sama will look at her worriedly and tell her to sleep, before going to bed with only a 'good night', and Kuroko will sit there on her desk with her face blank and stare and stare and sometimes her composure would break and she would pull her knees into her chest and bury her face in her arms, silently rocking there until the sun rises.

It is their form of a twisted routine; night after night. Once, Kuroko had deviated and asked about her onee-sama's curfew breaking with a forced sly grin, if she had spent it being lovey dopey in the arms of that spiky haired boy.

Misaka blushed then, waving her arms around, stuttering and telling Kuroko to stop being so stupid and that there's no way she would do something like that - she was just off doing things and they were just watching a movie; they were just, she was just...

Kuroko's grin faltered, her hand resting at her stomach to quell the queasiness churning inside – but still she continued with her stupid jokes and her raucous manner, fulfilling her role as the equilibrium dictates.

Equilibrium. Kuroko had laughed out loud (bordering on crazed giggles, but no, a proper lady must always cover her mouth and laugh only sparsely) when she saw that word in one of her text books and had immediately imagined the fine line (green; it has to be green – onee-sama's favourite colour) where she is treading oh so carefully. Sometimes she is tired, just so tired of tippy toeing between her fragile feelings and _her_ obliviousness

(Oblivious of what?)

She abandons the thought when she hears the crescendo of approaching footsteps. She knows enough about her onee-sama that she can easily discern how Misaka had felt in a given day based on the sound of her footsteps alone; just like how she knows from the rhythmical _tap tap_ that are almost skips, that Misaka will open the door with _that happy smile_ on her face, and if Kuroko asks how was your day, onee-sama? (just like how the stupid stupid routine goes), then she will soon start talkingabout _that_ _spiky haired boy_, while she laughs and blushes and stutters and complaints about his idiocy is _in that irritating, affectionate manner._

It is three hours and twenty five minutes past curfew when the door slowly creaks open.

"Aa, Kuroko. You're still up, huh?"

"You should know from the light, onee-sama." Kuroko hates hates hates that foolish smile glued on Misaka's face. "Had a good time with him?" Hates how her own lips automatically twist into a grin, hates the lightness tone that comes out of it when all she wants to do is scream cry rage go far far away.

"W-well, it's not what you think okay? We were just-"

Hates how they are so physically near; hates that she can close the distance between them in a fragment of a second; hates knowing that she can touch Misaka whenever she wants but never, could never, _not how like he touches her_.

Sometimes, in odd moments where she is truly alone with her thoughts, when there is no other presence to dampen (and make it disappear, how she wishes it would. just. disappear) the red she sees, when she can hear something go _snap_. s_nap. snap._

Her knuckles?

Knuckles. How ridiculous. She would have laughed too. Laughed. If not for Misaka's sudden frown, at which Kuroko stares at uncomprehendingly until she too notices the thin cracks on her mirror, and does not fully register the sight until a her own involuntary cry breaks the haze.

In a flash Misaka is beside her, holding up her palm to assess the damage, shouting out her name, asking what the hell did you do, you idiot are you al

Kuroko tunes the sound out and watches as the piece of glass Misaka had forcefully flung in panic hit the wall and shatters, watches how smears of her own blood seem to cling so stubbornly at the shards.

"KUROKO!"

For some reason Misaka is shaking her shoulders.

Her brain feels sluggish. But nonetheless she responds carefully, removing Misaka's grip gently with her uninjured hand. "Ouch, that hurts. Easy on the injured patient, onee-sama." She exaggerates her wince, laces her voice with playfulness. "It's just an accident. Sleep deprivation, all the judgment work, you know. I must have zoned out."

Misaka's voice is a bit rough. "Zoned out while gripping a fricking glass shard?"

"Yes, well." Kuroko retracts her hand, strokes the throbbing dull pain gently. She must have had punched it. Strange. It is not as if she feels particularly angry; it was a simple accident. "It was a simple accident. That is all."

Misaka scowls and opens her mouth to

"Onee-sama."

"W-what?"

Even if Kuroko believes her own lie- believes that the affection she holds is a mere product of a long cultivated relationship of roommates and seniority, believes that Misaka's happiness lies within the arms of _that boy_, believes that her blackouts and the red she sees and the sound of her own snapping knuckles are just due to sleep deprivation – even if she believes all that, even if she mires in her own bubbles of delusion and filthy, filthy lies punches things without accord self harms those fucking low level criminals with their fucking antics that _spiky hair_

No, no. How did it get so complicated? She overthinks sometimes, she thinks. Wouldn't it be nice if the source of all her worries would disappear? No more write-ups for breaking a few bones, driving in a few nails. No more waiting by herself for onee-sama to come home. It will be back to normal. Those days of lounging and joking around, of being chased by bursts of electricity. Those normal days. Those days before _he _existed.

"Onee-sama. He is... immune to all esper abilities, isn't he?"

"Er- yeah. Yeah. But why? Wait, that's not important. We should get this treated- I'll get the first aid kit. Wait here, okay? Don't go anywhere." And so her onee-sama, her ever kind onee-sama whisks out without a single glance back.

Her reply echoes through the empty room. "Of course. Of course."

She lets her gaze trail towards the discarded shards. She wonders how immune he is towards good old fashioned wounds.

Well, she will just have to find out, doesn't she?

**End.**

Oh come on, we all know that Kuroko is just a crack away from going yandere. It's like, the rule that the lesbian aiming for the straight girl will eventually crack and start killing people. TV tropes said so. Really.


	2. Shatter

**That Piece of Glass**

Disclaimer: Do not own psycho twin-tailed girl and broken biribiri.

Kuroko taps the broken piece of glass inside her pocket with nonchalance. She is made of aware of the flecks when she withdraws her hand and catches the play of light on her nails. Stares at it blankly. Lucky her school uniform is drab – the designer must be intimately considerate towards females; perhaps one herself. Black works so wondrously at concealing stains. And Kuroko knows that females are so accident prone. So easy to bleed. Of course she found out recently that males bleed just as easily. They just require more outside help.

She pulls her nail filer out of the drawer and begins to absentmindedly scrape the almost-black crusts from under her fingernails. Simply would not do for a proper lady to have inelegant nails. She dusts the flecks from her skirt and looks at the figure sitting hunched on the bed.

Of course her dearest onee-sama is broken.

It is not like Kuroko never considered this when she met with that... thing. She would feel the same way of her onee-sama was taken away from her, after all. Cry for a few days. Stare blankly at the wall for a week or two. Maybe resume normal activity after a month, with a silver framed photo sitting on her bedside table to look at and cry onto. And half-remembered memories of her for the rest of Kuroko's life, like a pleasant thorn buried inside heart. Kuroko understands completely. But why does

"Onee-sama, it's time for dinner." She receives no answer apart from a brief glance from black-ringed eyes before Misaka bends her head low again. Unsurprising. The last time she saw Misaka exhibiting anything remotely resembling a smile was forty-two days ago, gushing at Kuroko on how _incredibly awesome the day was, we went to the amusement park and you see, he forgot his wallet and had to go back to get it even when I told him I'd pay – long dead chivalry, but it was kinda cute, you know? And then he got me this gekota doll in the shooting game he wasn't too good but he kept trying – I just lo_

Why does she find it so ingratiating? Another three days and it will be six weeks since Misaka had collapsed into Kuroko's embrace wailing, staining her newly dry-cleaned uniform with transfer of coagulated blood, screaming incoherently about finding his body in an alley (dumpster, Kuroko whispered inaudibly) there was so much so much he was decapitated (not decapitated; just somewhat... loose) _oh_ _Kuroko! _

And that was the last coherent sentence Misaka had uttered before she was reduced into a garbling mess. Kuroko spent hours gently stroking her onee-sama's hair, whispering calming words, listening to her bereaved wails, before Misaka finally fell asleep from exhaustion on Kuroko's lap. She spent another few hours just staying there immobile, ignoring her cramping legs, just holding Misaka's hand, wishing her a sleep free of all bad dreams. Later on she had tucked Misaka into her bed, dressing her in Gekota pajamas to replace the soiled uniform. She brought the clothing to the bathroom and gently washed it by hand.

Twirling the nail filer between her fingers, Kuroko frowns at her onee-sama's figure. She does not understand. Surely six weeks is enough to recover? For Misaka to laugh freely again, joke around, electrocute her in playful chase like she used to do. She is there, after all. She would do anything for her. Anything. Would even (kill) sell her soul for her if that is what Misaka wants.

She does not understand. What does she lack that Misaka completely refuses to even glance at her for more than a few seconds a day? Surely she is not ugly – quite pretty, in fact. Rich. Smart. Powerful. Kind. If she would just _look at her for once_. She feels like snapping the filer into two.

Gekota's theme song burst into a sudden crescendo. She watches for a flicker of response from Misaka – maybe a twitch of her fingers, a half smile in remembrance, anything anything at all. Finds none; picks up the phone.

"Yes. No. It's me. No. She's still like that. No difference. Attending school normal, yes. Eating properly, a bit forced but oh? When? She's coming too, I assume? I see. I'll tell her that. Good bye." The phone clicks off with a snap. "Uiharu," Kuroko places the phone gently back on top of Misaka's desk. "Along with Saten-san will visit this weekend. Maybe take us to that new mall where she said they found a shop specializing in Gekota merchandise." She picks up the nail filer again. Six weeks and she still finds dried crusts embedded in her nails. The annoying places where it seems impossible to reach without tearing the nail bed open. She feels like the boy (even when he was rendered only as barely recognizable piece of meat) is mocking her that fu- She feels like driving a few nails into someone. The one advantage of working in Judgment.

Oh well. She rises and smooths her skirt. "Onee-sama, I'm going down to fetch dinner, alright? Today's your favorite." Oh well. It has only been nearly six weeks. There is still time. Misaka has no one, no one besides her but Kuroko, after all.

The door closes with a barely audible _click. _Her feet moves in a rhythm of _pitter patter_ that are almost skips. She can wait. Oh yes she can wait. Her onee-sama is hers after all. Hers and hers alone.

**End.**

I have no idea what this second chapter will do for the story. I mean, it's probably not a good idea. The previous chapter was nice as a one-shot. But but, yanderes are just _so awesome_. A night of biting my lips nicotine depraved, I felt like I just had to write this. Good for Kuroko too - she's getting more stable in the head in this fic, I think.

Maybe I'll add another, final chapter for this. Maybe not. Filing this under complete meanwhile.


	3. Whole

**That Piece of Glass**

Disclaimer: Do not own disturbed twin-tailed girl and gay biribiri.

* * *

Kuroko blinked. "It looks-" she cleared her throat and glanced sideways at Saten and Uiharu. The former made a frantic gesture with her hand with a look that could either mean constipation or abject rejection. The latter apparently found the texture of the wall very, very interesting. "Very nice. Onee-sama. Yes."

Forgive me, Lord. For I have sinned.

"Really?" Staring intently at the mirror, Misaka gave an experimental twirl. "Yep. Definitely suits me. Good taste Kuroko, glad you're here. I'm gonna change back, so wait a sec, kay?" The curtain to the changing room closed with a _snap_.

Briefly, very briefly, Kuroko wondered if all the internal electrical currents have somehow backfired, frying the part of her onee-sama's brain that dictated fashion sense. Or just universally accepted taste, really.

"She wears _that_ to sleep? I mean... a Gekota _body suit_. I don't even. What." Said Saten, staring at the curtain with the same constipated expression she wore before, which Kuroko interpreted as: _What the hell is wrong with this world?_

Uiharu still found the wall highly riveting. Probably in denial of the fact that she just saw a fifteen year old twirling around so happily inside a giant, shapeless green blob with a winking frog as its face. Kuroko could relate to her. She would feel the same way too if she did not have two years of nightly mental preparation where she saw Misaka go to bed each day with a different set of ridiculous pajamas. Once dressed as a banana. Complete with peel-able skin.

"You haven't seen anything," she said softly towards the wall, "..._anything_."

"Huh? What did you-"

"Oi Kurokooo. While I'm at it, can you grab that cow suit over there? The green one with the bell and milk bottle?"

Kuroko buried her face into her hands.

And then Saten said,

_Sector D is now blocked. All civilians are to evacuate the premises. __All civilians are to_

Kuroko snaps the curtain shut, then moves to the window besides Misaka's desk and does the same. An annoying dream, she thinks as she allows a segment of the curtain to remain open and peeks through it.

She sees: a couple holding hands, an ambulance going at breakneck speed, a queue at the crepe stand, debris, a car that turns without indicating, a building half-burnt, a pillar of black smoke in the horizon.

_Due to suspected terrorism Sector D is now blocked. All civilians_

An annoying dream. Dreams. She does not understand why she keeps having these dreams. Dreams where they – the four of them. Her onee-sama, Saten, Uiharu and herself. Where they do nothing but utterly mundane things. Talk, eat, hang out, shop, gossip. Laugh.

She wonders why she dreams at all.

From somewhere behind, she hears Misaka's subdued footsteps. No more rhythmic _pitter patter_ of skips at four in the morning. Only the dull thuds with the lightness of body from a fifteen year old girl. A dull thud, followed by another one, and another one, and another one.

_are to evacuate the premises. A breach of entry will be subject of appropriate_

"Another riot?" Misaka says, a hand on Kuroko's shoulder.

_subject of appropriate_

A shrill siren and another ambulance speeds by. "Uh-huh. Another group of level zeroes and their anti-science sentiments."

_appropriate_

Misaka scoffs. "Not like magic can suddenly make them a level five. Idiots. They're just into killing people."

_judgment._

Kuroko closes the curtain gently and turns.

For some reason Misaka is holding out a white plastic bag with a huge grin on her face. "Ta-daa! Beef bowl!" Misaka says with a certain pride, then thrusts the bag onto Kuroko's unwilling clutch. "It's a special. I haggled with the old man for extra fatty meat, you know."

Staring at the bag, Kuroko cannot help but grimace. "...onee-sama. Beef bowl again?"

"Well. If you hate it that much," Misaka pouts,"you can just go to Saten-san and beg for her awesome five-star cooking anytime."

"She's not here anymore. Her family called her back because of the riots, remember?"

"...oh. Right. Let's invite Uiharu-san then?"

"She's just been promoted in Judgment. I expect she'll be too busy to come." When the silence continues, Kuroko slips a hand inside her pocket taps the broken glass inside with perfectly manicured nails. "Shall I call her and ask?"

It has been a habit lately, that tapping. That carrying around of the razor sharp piece of glass still coated with flaking crusts. She wonders why.

After a while Misaka looks up and says, "no. It's okay. Just go sit around or something. I'll go prepare dinner." She takes the bag from Kuroko and heads towards the kitchen.

Kuroko thinks she saw a film of moisture on Misaka's eyes, but discards it as imagination. There is no reason for tears, after all. Both Saten and Uiharu are alive and well. And Misaka and her are together living happily together with take-out dinners and bad action movies. Forever and ever and after.

There is no reason.

She continues to tap on the glass with her perfect nails.

* * *

The dinner was horrible, of course. There is something about beef bowls that renders it unappealing to the palate by the eighth consecutive consumption. It would have been better if the carnivorous meal was somehow balanced by a side-dish of salad, but the thought of her onee-sama anywhere near cooking utensils sends a shiver down her spine. Not that Kuroko is any better.

"Man, that was great!" Misaka pats her stomach, ignoring the empty bowls and glasses as she haphazardly puts her feet onto the coffee table. She spreads her arms cruciform and leans back at the sofa with a sigh.

In the TV screen Bruce Lee is dealing severe blunt trauma to a few thuggish looking men.

"Indeed. Very... great." If Misaka brings another beef bowl tomorrow, Kuroko decides that she will scream and lock herself in the bathroom. Then she sits up and walks across the room where she picks up a small plastic cup.

Misaka looks up at the offered cup, reaches out and hesitates. "Do I really have to-"

"It's for the best, onee-sama."

She nods. The contents clinks together as Misaka twirls the cup absently."Hey, Kuroko?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for everything. I wouldn't have... wouldn't have made it through without you. Without your support."

It is odd that Misaka shows her gratitude so openly. But her onee-sama is broken, of course. And Kuroko is her only pillar of support. After all, it has been one year, three months, twenty-three days and

"Thirteen hours and forty-one seconds."

"Huh?"

Kuroko averts her gaze from the clock and smiles. "Nothing. You're welcome."

The sudden vibration and the rattle of the windows suggest that somewhere something is exploding again. They ignore it. Such common occurrence deserves no second thought.

She hears the annoying _clink clanks_ of the cup as Misaka continues to fiddle with it. It should stop. She wants to shout and wrench it away and see it shatter against the wall. But of course, her onee-sama is still broken. She lets it go.

When Misaka has drowned the pills in a single gulp and washes it down with a glass of water, Kuroko takes the cup away from her and piles it high on top of the dirty dishes. She barely glances at the sight of her onee-sama disrobing to change into her pajamas (not Gekota green but clean, clean white) – when the sight of her naked would send Kuroko into a frenzy of lust only a year ago – and walks to the sink where she stares at the tile and washes the dishes until her hands are raw.

* * *

She must have taken longer than usual because it is dark when she steps into the room. Misaka is already in bed, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Arms clutching at nothing. Gekota discarded somewhere under the bed. Kuroko sits on the bed and watches for a moment, then stands up to leave.

"Kuroko."

She feels a sudden tightness around her arm and looks down to see Misaka clutching at it. For some reason it reminds her of the scene in a movie where a man was holding on dearly onto a life-preserver. A shark was after him. Or was it a drug-dealing mafia whose deal he busted?

"Kuroko." Misaka says again. Her lips are quivering. That imaginary moisture of film again. "Don't. Don't- don't ever leave me. Please."

Sometimes. Sometimes, Kuroko has dreams where she is all alone in the room. Knees tucked inside her arms, silently staring at the door until Misaka arrives. Sometimes in those dreams. No. Always, Misaka will enter the room with such a broad smile. She will gush about how great her day had been, how kind he is and how utterly blessed she feels to be so _in love__._

They are dreams with such a strange ending.

An ending where Kuroko will step forward and embrace Misaka, stroking her back and telling her how _happy_ _she is _for her. How happy she is that Misaka finally finds the love of her life. How she will support them forever and ever and after.

Sometimes she finds herself waking up to a ring of laughter half dead in her throat. Her lips curled into the fading remembrance of a smile.

Such strange dreams.

She pauses. Then leans down and places a kiss on Misaka's neck. Of course she will not, she whispers, and starts unbuttoning Misaka's shirt.

Even if she feels nothing. Nothing.

Nothing.

**End.**

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For real, this time. I hope you enjoyed reading about a yandere!Kuroko as much as I did writing about her. Please review and give me your thoughts, folks. Thank you and tread carefully near seemingly normal schoolgirls. Unless you want to get NICE BOAT'ed.


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